


You're Family, We're Not Going Anywhere

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [14]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Civil War never happened and I will die on this hill, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, all of them - Freeform, baby spider, momma spider, only a lil bit though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23529553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Peter wakes up from a nightmare, believing he's alone, that the Avengers are split, that Mr. Stark is...It's just a nightmare. He lets his family take care of him.
Relationships: Avengers Team & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 23
Kudos: 446





	You're Family, We're Not Going Anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Civil War is some nonsense because we're all fully capable of talking about our opinions and emotions in healthy, civilized fashions so there. 
> 
> Everyone adopts Peter because he deserves it.

Fandom: Marvel (MCU)

Prompt: “Shush and go back to bed.”

* * *

_“And I…am Iron Man.”_

“Tony _no_!”

Peter scrabbles desperately at his chest, tries to make the armor go faster, get him to Mr. Stark, get between him and those awful stones, _save him—_

His fingers meet soft cotton, blunt nails dragging the material across his chest. His breaths don’t reflect against his helmet, puffing noisily into the air. He blinks away the tears in his eyes into the darkness of a bedroom, not the shiny glare of his HUD.

“Peter?”

He jerks away from the noise, spider-sense pinging off the rails as the body next to him stirs. Instead of the dark mop of Ned’s hair he half-expects to see, he squints at the dirty blond head raising from the pillow next to him.

“…Cap—Mr. Rogers?”

And yeah, that’s definitely Mr. Rogers in the bed next to him who raises an eyebrow.

“I told you, Pete, Steve’s fine. Now what’re you so shaken about,” he says quietly, reaching out for Peter’s arm, “you were crying, kid.”

“I—“ Peter swallows, still shaken from his—nightmare, apparently, that’s what it was—experience and still definitely confused as to why he’s in the same bed as Cap—Steve—“uh—“

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Cap— _Steve_ sits upright, wrapping his arms around Peter and pulling him into a hug. Peter all but melts into it.

Steve is so much bigger than, well, anyone he can remember getting hugs from and so _warm._ The science part of his brain helpfully supplies that it’s probably the serum at work but he ignores it in favor of the small creature part of his brain going _soft-warm-safe-hug-yay._

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, kid, take some deep breaths for me, hmm?”

Oh, right, he’s still hyperventilating. He forgot about that.

“There you go,” Steve murmurs when Peter finally decides to pay attention to not passing out, “just like that. Good job, keep breathing nice as slow…that’s it…”

And where has this been every single time Peter’s had a panic attack? The grounding pressure from Steve’s arms and the steady thump of his heart combined with the low, soothing voice worms its way gently through the knots of Peter’s anxiety, encouraging them to loosen their grip on his limbs, his airway, his voice.

“…thanks, Steve.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” comes the reply, Steve’s large, _warm_ hands still stroking up and down Peter’s back, “want to talk about it?”

“Um…”

“You’re allowed to say no,” Steve cuts in quickly, “I won’t be mad.”

Peter’s brow furrows. Is Steve naturally this good at figuring out exactly what he needs or has this happened before? Coupled with the fact that he doesn’t remember how exactly he ended up in the same bed as Steve or how he got _here…_

“C-can I ask a stupid question?”

Steve huffs a surprised laugh. “Considering how often your so-called ‘stupid questions’ end up way beyond me, I’ll do the best I can. Yes, you can ask, kiddo.”

“Um…how…how did I end up here?”

“Where, in my arms or in this room?”

Peter’s face flushes at the gentle tease. “The room.”

“You went home to your Aunt May’s house yesterday and you were having a bit of a rough time,” Steve explains, still rocking Peter back and forth, “so she called Tony asking if we’d be alright with you staying the night.”

“And you guys said yes?”

Steve pulls away a little, prompting Peter to look up at his concerned face. “Of course we said yes, Peter. You told us the base was better for you when you got overstimulated, what were we going to do, send you away?”

Peter doesn’t remember _any_ of this and, see that’s getting more and more concerning because what _else_ can’t he remember is something going to happen? Did he promise to do something for Mr. Stark that he can’t do? Wait, Mr. Stark is—

“Peter. Hey, Peter, look at me.”

Steve’s worried call snaps his attention back to his face, blinking away still more tears as he tries to calm back down.

“Can…can we go find Mr. Stark? I need to—“ Peter gasps—“I need to see him.”

“Shh, yes, of course we can,” Steve reassures, only to tighten his grip on Peter’s arms as he tries to throw himself out the door. “Easy, kid, you’re gonna hurt yourself. Give your body a minute to finish waking up, I don’t think you’re steady enough to walk right now.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest but his limbs do feel remarkably like jelly right now so he leans against Steve’s broad chest and focuses on making his heart rate settle. When it no longer feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest, Peter lets Steve guide him to stand next to the bed, keeping one of his hands on Steve’s arm for balance.

“I, um, don’t know where Mr. Stark is,” Peter confesses, pit in his stomach still threatening to swallow him whole.

“Mr. Stark is in Lab 6 on Level 12,” FRIDAY supplies from the ceiling.

Steve gives him a nudge. “Come on, let’s go see why _he’s_ awake at this hour.”

“I don’t think Mr. Stark sleeps like a normal person,” Peter mutters under his breath, caught off guard when Steve laughs.

“I don’t think Tony does a lot of things like a normal person.”

The elevator doors open and he’s there, he’s right there, lit up by hundreds of screens, fingers flying, moving about the space with that boundless energy he always seems to have. He’s alive. He’s safe.

Mr. Stark turns to look at them, pursing his lips and frowning disapprovingly at Steve.

“Captain Rogers, I sent you two to bed with the express understanding that you would be _sleeping,_ now what the hell are you two doing up at this hour?”

And it’s so perfectly Mr. Stark that Peter can’t fight the sob choking its way out of his throat. He opens the door to the lab and throws himself at Mr. Stark, wrapping his arms tightly around the older man’s torso and burying his face in the soft glow of the arc reactor. He smells like his workshop, like coffee, like the lake, like…Tony. He’s safe. It’s okay. It’s over.

“Steve, what’d you do to my kid,” he hears Mr. Stark mutter over his shoulder.

“Nightmare, I think. Woke up in a panic. He hasn’t told me what it was about. He didn’t remember coming to the base yesterday, just asked to see you.”

“Shit.”

“Language.”

“Really? Right now?”

“ _Tony._ ”

“Yeah, I know.” Mr. Stark’s voice gentles, soft at Peter’s ear, weathered hands cradling him carefully against his chest. “Hey, come on, kid, let’s have you sit down over here, hmm?”

Peter follows blindly as Mr. Stark gets them sat down on a couch, not willing to pull away from the older man for an instant in case he disappears.

“I’m right here, baby, ‘m not going anywhere.” Mr. Stark rubs his back, pulling him closer. “Come on, Spider-ling, you’re okay. Can you look at me?”

Peter raises his head, staring at Mr. Stark and yeah, he’s right here. The man’s brow is furrowed in concern but his face splits into a wide grin at Peter.

“Hey there.”

“H-hi.”

“You wanna tell me why I’m getting tackled in my own workshop at stupid o’clock in the morning?”

Peter swallows the lump in his throat, hands still twisted into Mr. Stark’s shirt. “…I, um, I’m sorry, I—“

“Uh uh. No apologies, kid.” Mr. Stark wags a finger in front of his face. “You take all the time you need to tell me.”

_Swallow again, Peter, then make the words go._

The picture’s blurring in Peter’s head, he can’t see any of it anymore past the—well, the ending.

“Everyone one was fighting,” he manages. “You…and Steve…and—and everyone was really mad at each other.”

“Because Steve took the last bowl of pasta again?”

“That was _one time_ and I’m pretty sure _I’m_ the one that made that pasta.”

Peter shakes his head. “No…it was a bad fight, you…you two hated each other. Then Steve went away with…a lot of people and…and…”

Peter looks up at Mr. Stark again, holding on as tight as he can until he hears the shirt whine in protest.

“…you _died,_ ” he finishes weakly, voice cracking.

“Oh, _bambino,_ ” Mr. Stark murmurs, sweeping him close in another hug, “I’m alright. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. That must’ve been scary.”

And yeah, he’s aware Mr. Stark’s treating him like a little kid but here he is, blubbering into his shoulder from a scary dream and fuck it, he’s allowed to be a little kid for a moment. He latches on to Mr. Stark and refuses to budge, not that he or Steve makes much of an effort to dislodge him.

“We’re not fighting,” Mr. Stark reassures, “Steve and I don’t hate each other. Neither of us is going anywhere.”

“We won’t leave, Peter,” Steve agrees from somewhere behind him, “I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.”

There are worse fates, Peter’s sure, still sniffling a little as he pulls away, wiping his face.

“I, uh, think I might’ve ruined your shirt,” he apologizes lamely.

Mr. Stark waves a hand dismissively. “I’ve got others. You’re more important.” He fixes Peter with a mock stern look. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Peter,” Mr. Stark murmurs, reaching out to finish wiping his face clean, “you know you don’t have to call me that. I’m Tony to you, _bambino._ ”

Oh. Um. Okay.

“…thanks, Tony.”

“Of course, Peter. Now, do you think you can go back to sleep?” Peter nods. “Then why don’t you and Steve go to the kitchen, get something to drink, then run off back to bed. At this hour it is little-spiders-should-be-asleep-time.”

“Y-you should sleep too, Tony,” Peter says hesitantly.

“Peter’s right.” Steve reaches over Peter to rest his own hand on Tony’s shoulder.

Tony huffs. “Well when both of you team up with your puppy dog eyes how am I supposed to say no?”

“That’s the point.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony holds up a finger. “On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You admit you swear more than anyone else in this building.”

“Tony—“

“Hey.” Tony throws his hands up. “I’m just saying. You know what I’m talking about, right, Peter?”

Peter can’t stop giggling at their antics long enough to make any sort of reply.

“How about you fuck off to bed, then.”

Tony winks at Peter, standing up and turning off some of the screens. “Alright, lemme clean up down here and get to bed. I better not see either of you before morning.”

“It’s past midnight, Tony.”

“Shush and go back to bed, Steve, and take my kid with you.”

Steve gives Tony a mock salute and ushers Peter to one of the kitchens, sitting him down on one of the stools and grabbing a packet of his favorite hot chocolate mix. “You want peppermint or no?”

Peter shakes his head, still wary of too much. Seeing Tony helped, a lot, and seeing him and Steve not be angry at each other helped too.

“Why are you two awake?”

Peter jumps, almost knocking the stool over. He turns and sees Ms. Romanoff, leaning against the wall with a mug in her hands. Steve barely glances over his shoulder.

“Oh, hey Nat. Pete had a nightmare.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Ms. Romanoff comes over, setting her mug on the counter and giving Peter a warm hug. “Have you talked about it?”

“Mhmm.” Peter leans into her touch. “‘m okay. Tony said I should get something to drink before I go back to bed.”

“Tony’s right, Baby Spider. What’re you having?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Good choice.”

“Almost done,” Steve calls, “just need a few more minutes.”

Peter opens his mouth to respond when he feels fingers threading through his hair and he melts instead, leaning into Ms. Romanoff.

“Feel good?”

“Mm.”

“Good. You just sit there and enjoy your hot chocolate.”

Ms. Romanoff’s hands rubbing gently into Peter’s scalp made it extremely hard to summon the energy to pick up the mug Steve slid over to him, let alone finish the drink, not that Peter was complaining. Her fingertips running down to lightly brush the hair just above his neck too sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. The warm, smooth chocolate on his tongue settled low in his belly, a solid warmth that chased away any remaining chills.

“Baby Spider’s looking sleepy,” she murmurs, “Steve, you might have to carry him to bed.”

“Oh no, what a tragedy.”

“Mm. Truly awful.”

“I can walk,” Peter protests blearily, much to the amusement of the others.

“I know, Peter. But just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. You can let us help you.”

Peter has a feeling she’s talking about more than just the journey back to bed.

“Plus,” she whispers, bending towards Peter, “are you really gonna deprive Steve the chance of carrying you around every chance he gets?”

“…no…”

She laughs, giving Peter’s curls one last run-through to work out any tangles with her fingers. ‘Good night, Baby Spider. You sleep well.”

“Thanks, Ms. Romanoff.”

“Nat,” she corrects.

“…Nat.”

“Or Momma Spider,” Steve supplies helpfully.

“…yeah no.”

They laugh, Nat heading off into the darkness and Steve placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder, asking if he did want to be carried.

“…please?”

“Come here then.”

Steve scoops him up, cradling him effortlessly as he walks back to the bed, sitting down on the edge and depositing him carefully into the middle of the tangle of blankets they left behind. Peter buries back in, thankful for the softness and the comfort the blankets give him as Steve watches on fondly.

“Hey,” he calls once Peter is settled, “you know we love you, right?”

Peter’s mouth drops open. “…um…”

“You’re our family, Peter,” Steve continues quietly, completely sincere, “this isn’t some kind of chore. We’re happy to help you, whenever you need it. Even if you don’t need it, if you just want one of us, we’ll be there. Promise.”

And what, pray tell, is Peter supposed to say to that?

“…thank you, Steve, that, um, means a lot.”

“Of course.” Steve tucks a lock of his hair away from his face. “Do you _want_ anything else to help you go back to sleep?”

“…more hugs?”

“More hugs it is.”

Steve slips back into bed next to him, pulling him against his chest and tucking one hand behind Peter’s head. Steve is big and warm and soft and Peter’s eyes close reflexively, basking in it.

“…g’night, Steve,” he slurs with his last remaining coherence.

He feels Steve’s steady heartbeat against his as he slowly drifts off to sleep. So the hand that runs through his hair or the kiss pressed to his cheek could have been his imagination.

“Good night, Peter.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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